


Finding Barbara

by CavannaRose



Series: Cheetah Fics [6]
Category: Wonder Woman (Comics)
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 14:13:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8803957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: She spent so much time as The Cheetah... could she find the woman she once was within herself?





	

Barbara had allowed the beast within her to rule her actions for far too long. The aristocratic archaeologist had faded over time. Being feral was… easier. It was also, unfortunately, hell on her carpets. The furred female stalked across her flat, crouching to examine the tattered edge of what had once been a beautiful Armenian carpet from the ninth or tenth century. Almost a quarter of it was defiled by thick gouges from her claws, and another third of the pattern obscured by the rust-brown stains of pooled blood. She had let Urtzkartaga run her actions for too long. She may owe the plant god her abilities, and quite frankly her continued life, but when her treasures were to be put at risk… that was far too much to ask.

Irritation stiffening her spine, the woman stood, angrily tearing the revealing pieced of leather she used to enhance her nakedness, rather than conceal it as she stalked the night as The Cheetah. Enough was enough. Clothed only in the surprisingly soft, spotted fur that clung to her every curve, she stalked through the empty flat, tail twitching back and forth. Once in her own room, she flung open the armoire, claws contracted so they wouldn’t catch on the delicate fabrics within.

She skipped over a selection of suede wrapped dresses from Whistles, though chic they weren’t the vibe she was going for this evening. Barbara paused, tracing down the beadwork of a maxi dress from monsoon, finally deciding against it as the fluted skirt dropped from between her fingers. Designers with names most people couldn’t pronounce were considered and then discarded, until finally she found what she was looking for. From her last visit to Jigsaw, a silk kimono style dress with a pattern reminiscent of flowers observed through a rain-sheeted window.

Pulling on the delicate fabric, the feline female purred in pleasure. This is what she wanted. Quickly she worked her claws through the riot of auburn curls cascading down her back, pulling some back in braids while allowing others to settle into place, framing her shoulders. For a moment, she felt like her old self. Stalking across the room, she paused at the mirror, and almost lost her temper once more. The dress was beautiful, perfectly tailored, and the pattern didn’t clash with her own fur. The problem was her. Despite all that she tried, she still looked like something from the heart of the jungle. Braided hair and sharp teeth clearly marking her as … /other/.

A hiss escaped her lips, and Barbara was so very tempted to unleash the beast within her. The Cheetah didn’t care if people saw the violent savage inside. Only she did. Only she remembered. Once upon a time there was a brilliant, ambitions young archaeologist named Barbara Ann Minerva. She allowed greed to twist her, and now her folly was as plain as the spots stamped across her thighs. Slowly she unclenched her fist, releasing the tight clasp one finger at a time, easing her shoulders back. She could do this. For one evening, she could be a human being again.

Head held high, she would be damned before she would allow the small-minded peons to force her shoulders to slump, she turned and strode out of the flat and into the street. She never bothered locking up, few would be foolish enough to steal from her, and fewer still would survive the attempt. Part of her already regretting the decision to venture forth, she headed for a local bar that catered to a more… eclectic clientele. The New York night was cold, but she felt none of it as she descended the stairs into a little dive known as The Dark Side.

Flashing fang at the doorman, she waltzed in as if she owned the place, nodding to one or two familiar faces as she moved to the bar. Perhaps gallivanting amidst the dregs of the local underbelly of society wasn’t exactly being human, but it was better than she had been in weeks. Cautious as to the fabric of her dress on the filthy seats, she perched on a stool, signalling the bartender. “I’ll have a White Russian with extra cream, and if you make a single kitty cat joke your Adam’s apple will be the garnish.” With a feral little smile, she sat back, watching the suddenly nervous man as he worked. It was good, in a place like this, to be the one that left people scared.


End file.
